A Day In Austria's House
by Mondmaedchen
Summary: Japan, Austria, Hungary and Prussia are all in Austria's house! Now that they are all together, what will ensue? Chaos of course! All hell will break loose! A collection of drabbles.
1. Bad Piano-Playing & Photographs

**Hey! I just got into Hetalia and am watching it now REALLY A LOT! So I hope you like humor cause this is going to be hilarious (hopefully)!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

* * *

 **In One Of Austria's Guest Rooms**

Japan and Hungary were sitting in one of the Guest Rooms in Austria's house. Japan was showing Hungary his photos of the nations that he had taken, and Hungary was doing the same.

"That picture is a very good one of Monaco," said Hungary, pointing to the picture of a small female nation.

"Yes," said Japan, his dark brown eyes glancing briefly over the picture. "She was very willing to be photographed."

Hungary carefully looked over the photo, taking in the the pale blush that adorned the Monaco's cheeks. Monaco had her light brown hair in a long side braid down the left side of her back, and two dark hair clips pinned a thick strand of hair back from her forehead on the right side, letting some other strands of hair fall in her face. Her blue eyes twinkled kindly, though there was a hint of shyness. The grayish pink glasses she wore were crooked, giving her a quirky look. A red ribbon was on her braid, and she wore a simple pink dress with a red collar. She had white gloves on, and gray boots. Hungary was impressed.

"Monaco is a very beautiful nation," said Hungary, smiling as she remembered when Monaco was a very small nation. Monaco was growing up now, and lived in her own house.

"May I see some of yours, Hungary-san?" asked Japan politely.

"Of course!" exclaimed Hungary, proudly picking a picture from her bag.

Japan surveyed it. "That is a very impressive picture of Taiwan and Vietnam."

He felt a little nostalgic as he saw his little sisters smiling into the camera with Taiwan's arm wrapped around Vietnam's shoulders. In the photo, Vietnam was smiling, eyes closed, with her single ponytail hanging down her front. Taiwan had sakura blossoms in her free-falling dark brown hair, eyes closed as well. Both of them were blushing slightly, just like with Monaco.

"Thank you," said Hungary, smiling.

"Beautiful girls," murmured Japan, eyes lingering slightly on the photo. He regretted that he wasn't that close to China anymore, and wished he still was.

* * *

 **Austria's Living Room**

While Hungary and Japan were looking over the pictures, Austria, in the living room, a mere ten feet away from the piano, was watching Prussia play the piano, and Prussia was playing very badly indeed. If looks could kill, then the glare Austria was sending Prussia would have sent him six feet under half an hour ago.

In order to try and remain calm, Austria took a deep breath in, and out.

"What are you trying to play?" he inquired politely, though realizing that he shouldn't have if he didn't want to lose his temper.

"Fur Elise," Prussia answered, happily pounding away at the keys.

Austria's rage began to flare up again. What Prussia was playing sounded like a horrible remix of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Austria tried to calm himself down, telling himself that Prussia's playing wasn't _that_ horrible, when the first twangs sounded in the air.

Prussia's pounding of the keys had started to break the strings of the piano.

 _"Ach du meine Güte!"_ Austria flinched at his own outburst, when more twangs sounded.

"It's fine!" sang Prussia happily. "The piano is okay!"

"Please..." Austria trailed off. "Please be careful about the keys!"

 _Half An Hour Later_

Austria sighed in relief. So far, Prussia hadn't broken any more strings yet.

 _What a disgrace to all piano players!_ he thought irritably.

Then a sharp _twang_ filled the air.

Prussia stopped playing.

Austria turned to Prussia, murder lust in his eyes.

 _"Du hast das getan,"_ he growled. _"Du stirbst! Ich werde dich töten!"_

Prussia whimpered.

Austria lunged at Prussia and threw him to the impeccably clean wood floor. He shoved his elbow against Prussia's throat and pressed, cutting off the air to the windpipe. Prussia let out a (literally) strangled scream followed by a gasp, clawing at the air, clawing at Austria, but Austria's fury levels had been pushed so high, he was an immobile force.

Prussia managed to let out another (literally) strangled scream, when Austria pushed him down again. Austria grabbed a parasol and began pounding it on Prussia's chest, and Prussia shoved Austria whenever he could, when footsteps sounded and a gasp stopped them.

Austria looked up, as did Prussia.

Hungary and Japan were there in the doorway to the Living Room. Hungary had a strange, evil gleam in her eye, accompanied by a creepy evil smile, while Japan simply looked expressionless, though a small waver in his mask expressed his shock.

* * *

 **Austria's Guest Rooms**

A strangled scream echoed through the house.

Japan looked up sharply. "What was that?"

"I don't know," shrugged Hungary. "And I don't care. Come on, look at this cute photo of Belgium!"

"Isn't she Luxembourg and Netherland's sister?"

"Yes," replied Hungary, looking at the photo, when another scream rang through the house, shaking the air waves even in the darkest corners.

"I think we should check that out now," said Japan, looking up. He didn't understand why Hungary wasn't worried.

"If you like," sighed Hungary.

"Hai, I do," said Japan.

Hungary got up, and stretched a hand out to Japan, who took it and was helped up by Hungary.

"Let's go," said Hungary. She grabbed a frying pan out of nowhere.

The two hurried down the halls and down the stairs, till they got to the Living Room. There they found a strange sight.

Austria holding Prussia down to the floor with a white and red parasol while Prussia had his hands on Austria's shoulder in a manner that was meant to shove Austria off, a purplish red bruise forming across his neck.

Hungary felt sadistic joy at Prussia on the floor like that, and knew that there was an evil glint in her eye and a creepy evil smile on her face.

Japan was very surprised and shocked that Austria had managed to pin down Prussia and that Prussia wasn't fighting back, but he managed to retain his expressionless mask...or so he thought. Apparently his mask wavered to let some of his shock show.

"Well, well," said Hungary with a sugary sweetness that was _absolutely_ fake. "What do we have here?"

* * *

 **Austria's Living Room**

"Well, well," said Hungary. "What do we have here?"

 _"Ein Idiot , der mein Klavier kaputt gemacht hat so dass es nun völlig unbrauchbar ist!"_ yelled Austria, anger flaring up again and he turned back to Prussia, who was gasping on the floor. Gripping the parasol tightly, Austria started whacking Prussia with it.

"Kill him! Smash him! More! More! He can take it!" shouted the unmistakably sadistic voice of Hungary.

"Wait! Stop!" implored Japan.

 _"NEIN! ER HAT MEIN KLAVIER KAPUTT GEMACHT!"_ Austria kept hitting Prussia.

That is how Prussia ended up in the hospital with Austria stroking the broken piano, tears in his eyes, with Hungary handcuffed to a chair so that she wouldn't take a parasol and start smacking Prussia again with it, while Japan sat down in the guest room, completely bewildered by what had happened.

That was a regular day in Austria's House.

* * *

 **I hoped you liked it! This is my first Hetalia fic, and I _am_ Austrian so I speak German so I can translate for you!**

 ** _Ach du meine Güte!_ \- Oh my goodness!**

 ** _Du hast das getan._** **\- You did this.**

 ** _Du stirbst! Ich werde dich töten!_ \- You die! I will kill you!**

 ** _Ein Idiot , der mein Klavier kaputt gemacht hat so dass es nun völlig unbrauchbar ist!_ \- An idiot, who broke my piano strings so that it is completely unusable!**

 ** _NEIN! ER HAT MEIN KLAVIER KAPUTT GEMACHT!_ \- No! He broke my piano!**


	2. Soviet Union & Exhausted Europeans

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

 **Hey, this is the newest chapter for** ** _A Day In Austria's House_** **and it really has nothing to do with Austria, however this drabble is chock-full of Hungary and Russia friendship! _Not_ a pair. _Definitely_ not after the entire Soviet Union thing attacking Hungary, but whatever. Have fun!**

 **Paulinaghost: Thanks! You'll find out what happened in this chapter.**

 **Maya: Excuse me, if you tried 'German' on Google Translate, what you have seen is the Germany German. Austrian German is spoken in a different type of dialect, such as, the Germans say "Apricose" which means apricot, but Austrians say "Marille". The dialect and way you phrase your very sentences are very different, though the language is the same.**

* * *

 **Hungary's Hotel Room**

Hungary sighed, looking into the mirror at her latest look. She was wearing a green cap over her flowing dark brown hair, and a green jacket, green pants, and a white shirt. Matching that outfit were black boots.

"I wonder if Austria has arrived yet," she mused, remembering the events of last night.

Austria had been clinging onto the piano that Prussia had broken a week ago, and was trying to fix it. Hungary had wanted him to go with her to Bangladesh, where the world meeting had taken place, but Austria insisted that he stay and fix the piano.

Hungary had left at two in the morning, Austria still fixated on the broken piano, which was steadily getting worse.

It was eight in the morning in Bangladesh, and Hungary hadn't gotten _any_ sleep. What made it worse was that the meeting was at twelve in the afternoon, and Hungary knew that if she took a nap now, she would wake up at six in the evening.

She looked out the window, admiring the wonderful view.

The hotel was just beside the Bay of Bengal, and Bangladesh's house, where they were holding the meeting, was further down, also at the side of the Bay of Bengal.

Hungary yawned, covering her mouth with a black-gloved hand. Maybe walking to Bangladesh's house would wake her up and clear her mind. Yes, it would.

Hungary took her keycard with her, tucked it in her pocket, grabbed her black bag, slung it over her shoulder, and walked out the door. The beach was a nice place. It would definitely wake her up. Hopefully.

* * *

 **Russia's Hotel Room**

Russia smiled his ever-lasting smile as he fastened his scarf around his neck. He remembered when Ukraine had tricked him into signing something by giving him the scarf. However, he never wanted to go anywhere without it. It reminded him of Ukraine.

"Belarus," he muttered, thoughts traveling to his mentally unstable younger sister. "You will not become one with me, da? But everyone else will. But not you, Belarus! Go away, da!"

He shuddered, remembering when Belarus had cornered him in a room and almost married him. Thank god that he had been summoned by England at that exact moment! Though England hadn't seemed happy when he had arrived.

Russia decided he would take a walk on the beach after terrorizing Lithuania, and stuck his keycard in the pockets of his long brown coat. He smiled creepily into the mirror, and decided that he would make Latvia tremble as well.

Leaving the room, he turned the corner and almost sent Japan tumbling to the floor. Japan regained his composure after a few seconds, and bowed. "Hello, Russia-san." Russia kept smiling, though it was astounding that Japan wasn't intimidated by him. Then again, Japan always hid his emotions, so it wasn't surprising.

"Hello," said Russia. "You will become one with me, da?"

"I must go," said Japan, face steadily getting redder and redder. He turned and disappeared around the corner so sharply that Russia felt a little sad. He wanted someone to talk to. But his smile remained.

A walk on the beach of the Bay of Bengal would help, he decided.

Yes, it would help.

* * *

 **The Beach of the Bay of Bengal**

Hungary walked alongside the Bay slowly, inhaling the scents of the beach.

She was enjoying herself, walking in the morning sun, feeling the sand crunch beneath her boots, and smelling the scents of the Bay. She raised her head to the sky, and looked back down, when a figure caught her eye.

Yes, a figure that she could walk over to.

And so she did.

The figure was no one she was expecting. And the figure probably wasn't expecting _her_ , either.

"Russia?" she asked in surprise.

"Hungary?" he answered.

"What are you doing here?" asked Hungary.

"Same as you, da?" said Russia. "Taking a walk to clear your mind, da?"

"Well, yes," said Hungary. "But I'm walking to-"

"Bangladesh's house, da," said Russia. "Me as well."

"Walk together...?" suggested Hungary hesitantly. She wasn't sure whether that would work out or not, but when Russia dipped his head to nod, she just wondered if she had forgiven him for the attack on her capital.

"Yes," said Russia. "Company is better than none, da?"

"Da," Hungary agreed. "I mean, _igen."_

The two of them slowly started walking down the beach, occasionally commenting about the scenery in Bangladesh and more. That's when Hungary yawned again, still feeling exhausted. So she slowly leaned down her head on Russia's shoulder and began to doze off...

Russia felt added weight on his shoulder, and looked down. Hungary had dozed off on his shoulder, probably of exhaustion. Russia wasn't used to people doing that to him. He shoved her off his shoulder, and listened to her yelp.

"I am not a pillow," he said. "Sleep somewhere else, da!"

"Hmph!" Hungary turned away, nose high in the air. "And you wonder why you have no friends!"

"Fine," sighed Russia. That comment had hit close to home. "But if you use me as a pillow, use my scarf, da?"

"Thanks!" Hungary grinned and leaned on his shoulder, falling asleep.

Russia paid no attention to the sleeping nation and gripped her shoulder, half carrying half dragging her with him.

Hungary slept through it all, until they arrived at the world meeting.

* * *

 **The World Meeting**

Hungary was glancing around worriedly, for she hadn't seen Austria inside.

Russia had brought out his knitting and was knitting a scarf.

The world meeting was the same as always, America being loud and obnoxious, Germany being frazzled, England and France fighting, China and Japan being awkward around each other, Italy being an idiot waving his white flag around, Russia knitting, and Canada never seen. Yes, Hungary saw Canada!

Hungary looked across the table, and saw Vietnam yelling at Italy. She had dark hair, golden eyes, and a scowl on her face, wearing a dark green dress and flowy pants.

Hungary listened in on their conversation. Well, more of a yellathon.

"Italy!" the nation was yelling, waving her arms around. "Stop talking about America and me! There is nothing going on!"

"Okay, pretty girl!" Italy said happily.

"Don't call me 'pretty girl'!" Vietnam growled, her eyes narrowing into dark slits.

Hungary sighed, and put her head down onto the table.

Russia was having the same problem.

He had heard every word that Vietnam and Italy had uttered, and was completely irritated. But the irritation went away after he looked at China.

China was holding small talk with Japan and Russia resolved to stalk him when he left after the meeting.

* * *

 **The Beach of the Bay of Bengal**

Russia and Hungary had decided to walk back to the hotel together, and were on the golden beach, silently.

Hungary began to yawn, and covered her mouth with her black-gloved hands. "I'm tired."

"Oh no," said Russia, starting to speed up. "You are not using me as a pillow again, da!"

Hungary raised her eyebrows and pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket. She put on the 'Phone' app and waved it in Russia's face. "I have Belarus on speed dial."

"Fine," growled Russia. He let Hungary lean against his shoulder...and she promptly fell asleep.

 _Two Hours Later_

"Uh...Hungary?" Russia poked Hungary in the shoulder, where they'd been standing for two hours. Hungary had been sleeping. "You awake? Wake up, da!"

"Huh...?" Hungary looked up, her bright green eyes cloudy with sleep. "Oh...right. Back to the hotel!"

The two of them walked half an hour back to the hotel.

The other nations were all having fun in the lobby of the hotel, and Hungary wanted to sleep.

As the two walked into the lobby, Russia said, "I can't wait until Lithuania comes crying to me! Sounds fun, da?"

"Russia!" scolded Hungary, and slapped him on the back. "You don't do things like that!"

A hush descended over the other nations. Hungary had slapped _Russia_ on the back. _Russia._

America struck a heroic pose. "I'll save you Hungary!"

Hungary and Russia ignored him.

The other nations flinched and cowered behind sofas, but with watchful eyes, fearing for Hungary's life.

"Hungary! Hungary!" Italy threw her a white flag.

Hungary took it, snapped it into two pieces, and threw it on the ground.

Italy widened his eyes. "H-Hungary..."

Russia just muttered something under his breath with his ever-lasting smile, and kept on walking, Hungary at his side.

Russia pushed the button for the elevator. Hungary turned to the other nations, smirking, and flashed a peace out sign.

Then the two walked into the elevator.

The doors closed and the elevator dinged.

The nations were still silent.

Then the lobby doors banged open.

"I am so sorry that I am late," said a heavily accented voice. "I had a broken piano to fix. What did I miss?"

The nations turned to face the missing Austria.

* * *

 **How was this one? It's something me and my friend came up with. Sorry if Russia is a bit OOC...I can't do him very well!**


	3. Smile

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

 **Strongwolf4: Thank you very much! I was going for badass, since Hetalia really depicts Hungary as a maid servant.**

 **CherryPetals0510: Thanks for favoriting and liking this! I am also a Naruto fan, and I see that you like Sakura the best!**

 **The absolute newest chapter of** _ **A Day in Austria's House**_ **and this includes India x Pakistan fluff! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Pakistan**

Pakistan sighed as she helped Bangladesh clean up.

"Thank you so much!" Bangladesh kept babbling, bangles on her hands jangling. Pakistan looked at Bangladesh, whose sari was caught on the foot of a chair. Bangladesh had on a sunny yellow sari, but one of those long flowy saris that got in the way of everything.

Looking at her own hands, Pakistan supposed she wasn't much better, with her long blue dress and her blue head cover. Right now she felt extremely happy; she was reflecting the feeling of one of her women, who was getting married.

"Listen," she said to Bangladesh. "It's been two hours! I must get back to hotel!"

"No problem, Pakistan!" smiled Bangladesh cheerily. "I will clean up rest on my own!"

Pakistan sighed in relief and went outside, into her car, which she started up and used to drive into the hotel.

She parked it and walked into the lobby, where a disheveled looking Austria was sitting, surrounded by both Germany and Prussia, who were explaining something to him. Pakistan passed England and France arguing about something, and she also passed Italy and Romano yelling at each other...more Romano was yelling at Italy, China and Japan were civilly discussing politics and America was trying to get Alaska to talk to him, but Alaska just turned around in her parka, her dark brown hair in a loose braid, ignoring America.

Pakistan walked into the elevator, turned around to press the button, and felt her heart stop.

India.

The mathematical nation was gazing at her softly, hazel eyes full of sadness.

Pakistan knew what was happening. She felt it too.

They both felt the pain of their people dying, fighting against each other, giving both nations constant wounds.

The saddest thing was that Pakistan's people were fighting India's people.

And the two used to be married.

"I still hate you," whispered Pakistan to India, gazing at her former lover.

"I hate you too," answered India, biting his lip. He pushed past her, head down, and pressed _29._

"Press _18_ please," Pakistan asked quietly. India complied.

When the elevator doors opened for Pakistan, she went out immediately, uncomfortable with the burning gaze of India on her back.

Pakistan and India had used to be joined...married, if you say. But India was too big and many of Pakistan's people wanted freedom. Thus starting a war, which Pakistan won. But even now, divorced, there are the Pakistani-Indian border skirmishes all the time, which gave each of them constant wounds.

Pakistan gasped in pain as crimson stained the forearm of her dress. India must have killed more of her people. She ran to the room she had, and bandaged up the wound. Hopefully India wasn't hurt _too_ bad...no. She would not feel worried for that murderer...who had been her lover once...no! She would _not!_

* * *

 **India**

The World Meeting was over. Thank Vishnu. India couldn't take anymore of Germany's yelling about being quiet while being the loudest in the room in the process, France and England's constant fighting, America being rude and obnoxious, Italy being an idiot, and the constant wounds Pakistan's people gave him. They really messed up his thinking.

India went out of Bangladesh's house, noticing Pakistan staying over to help her clean up. India would have offered too, but this was _Pakistan._ His former lover...who he still had strong feelings for...no he did not! He wiped the treacherous thoughts out of his head and kept Pakistan in his mind as a killer.

At the hotel, India's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the text that had been sent.

 _The Awesome Prussia is calling you to the hotel basement to show you things_

India sighed. He really could use a break, but maybe Prussia would be his break.

 _Be right there_

As India walked to the elevator, he saw England and France arguing about something or the other. Immediately the anger he felt whenever he saw England tightened in his chest and he instinctively glanced down at the back of his hands, hands that were riddled with old, old scars, from when the British ruled India.

He glanced back at them. England, with the bushy eyebrows, the constant scowl, the green eyes, the blonde hair, in his normal green military outfit. France with his flamboyant clothing, and both of their eyes were blazing with anger.

Love at its finest.

Stiffly, India turned to the elevator and walked in. The _B_ button stood for Basement. India pressed it.

When he arrived, he wrinkled his nose. The entire floor was dusty, and there were white sheets all over the furniture. Prussia wasn't there yet, so India decided to wait. He sat down on one of the sheeted armchairs, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

For over two hours, he waited.

And Prussia didn't show up.

Finally, at last after two and a half hours, Prussia showed up.

"Where have you been?" India exploded angrily. "I've been waiting for ages!"

"Ah," winked Prussia. "You still got that English accent from England, I see, from when you were his colony!"

"I am leaving now," said India, the anger in his chest returning as Prussia had called him England's 'colony'. India walked into the elevator as the buttons dinged, and Prussia wailed behind him.

"I didn't mean it! Stay! There was a pretty woman and I had to give her some of the Awesome Prussia and-" The elevator doors shut.

"Ah well," sighed Prussia. "The Awesome Prussia doesn't need anyone else to do his dancing act!"

* * *

India stood in the elevator, and pressed _L._ Then he cursed himself. He wanted to go to his hotel room, not to the Lobby. But the doors opened and a very pretty woman walked in. She turned around, and both their eyes widened.

"Pakistan..." India breathed so softly she couldn't hear.

"I still hate you," whispered Pakistan, answering the unspoken question in his eyes.

"I hate you too," said India quietly, feeling his heart break, as it was not true. He bit his lip, then chastised himself for doing that. He put his head down so he wouldn't have to meet Pakistan's eyes, and headed over to the buttons. _28._

"Press _18,_ please," asked Pakistan softly. India complied.

He watched her blue dress trail on the floor as she walked out, and watched the doors close. He couldn't help thinking about why Pakistan hated him. He shouldn't have tried to keep her married to him. Then they might still be friends.

A sting in his side made him look down, and see the crimson stain his brown work outfit. Pakistani-Indian border skirmishes.

India closed his eyes, wondering if the pain could wash out everything else he was feeling. No. It intensified his sadness.

He limped into his room, and bandaged up the wound.

* * *

 **In The Dining Restaurant**

India was sitting at his respective table, wondering who had been assigned with him. Germany was not a very good tables assigner, so maybe he'd be paired with Mongolia or South Africa or Morocco.

He was reading a book from America, _Time of the Fireflies_ by Kimberley G. Little, and was enjoying it, though it was a little sad. Then the delicate patter of feet approaching the table made him perk up towards the sound.

"Is this Table Six?" a feminine voice asked.

"Yes," answered India.

The woman sat down. India looked up from his book. He gasped, as did the woman.

"Pakistan?"

"India?"

India smiled shakily.

 _An Hour Later_

"Pass the salt please?" Pakistan said politely. India sighed and passed her the salt.

"Look, we _have_ to make at least a bit of conversation!" he said. "We have just been being polite and in silence, it's unbearable!"

"You want conversation?" Pakistan breathed, leaning forward, her eyes angry. "I just wanted to be independent from you, but you wanted to hold on! Do you know how much that hurt me? How many scars your people are still giving me?"

India opened his mouth to reply, but Pakistan beat him to it. "Your people are hurting mine during border skirmishes! I have headaches from morning to night! Do you _know_ how that feels?"

India pushed his sleeve back and laid his arm on the table. Pakistan noticed it and continued. "I get that you're hurting as well, but I'm hurting so much more than you! You see-"

She broke off as she stared at his arm. Criss-crossed with old and new scars, not a single part of his skin remained smooth and clear from scars.

"Oh..." her voice was soft. "I'm...I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"England," India's voice was hard. "His rule over me. He killed my people, and when the peaceful protests began, that killed even more. Then your people, fighting for freedom, added to these scars. He broke me, Pakistan. You and England. You _broke_ me."

"I'm so sorry," Pakistan said hesitantly. "I didn't realize-"

"But even broken things can be fixed," India said, cutting her off. "I'm healing."

Pakistan leaned close to gaze in his eyes, when India leaned forward as well.

Their lips joined in a sweet, sad kiss, something that expressed pain and sorrows, but healing as well.

They pulled apart at the same time.

"I'm healing, and you are too," murmured India.

He smiled at her, and for the first time, Pakistan smiled back.

* * *

 **Awww, the two learning to love again! How cute!**


	4. Canadian Please

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

 **Strongwolf4: I think so too.**

 **Amethystfairy1: I actually like Austria when he's pissed...:)**

 **CherryPetals0510: I know...Pakindia is SO KUWAII!**

 **This is a songfic about Canada; the song is Canadian Please. You can find it on Youtube. And I actually got this idea from Stereotype Song by CrazedFujoshi! Check it out...it's very funny!**

* * *

Another World Meeting.

Another day of being invisible.

Canada lay his head down on the table, watching Honduras shake her head at Brazil, who threw her hands up in the air in exasperation.

America held up his computer. "...and that's how we save the world from Global Warming with a Giant Robot made by me! The hero!"

"Um...America-san..." Japan pointed to something on the computer.

"Yeah Japan, dude?" America swallowed a bite of his hamburger and flashed a grin. Canada hugged Kumijiro to him.

"There is an ad on your computer," said Japan.

"Oh yeah, dude, there is!" said America. "I'm gonna click it!"

"America, that is not a good idea," Germany started to say, but America already clicked it.

A song started blaring out of the speakers.

Canada sighed. Probably one of America's stupid Beyoncé songs... _I've been drinking, watermelon..._ seriously? Who writes songs with those lyrics? Only America.

 _ **Yeah I know that you wanna be Canadian, please**_

 _ **Even if in winter things tend to freeze**_

Canada perked up. There's a song about me!

"Who is this 'Canada'?" asked Germany.

"It's me!" yelped Canada, speaking up for once.

"Oh...it's you," said Seychelles, looking at Canada.

"Why would anybody want to be Canadian?" asked America. "Being American is so much better..."

Almost every single nation in the room that was not America muttered, "No it's not." with the exception of Greece, who was snoring.

 _ **We've got the world monopoly on trees**_

 _ **And our country's bordered by three different seas**_

"It is?" asked England.

"Yeah," answered Canada proudly, but quietly. "The Arctic, Atlantic, and Pacific."

"Those are oceans, you know," said Turkey snippily.

"That wouldn't rhyme, masked bastard!" snapped Romano.

 _ **Yeah I know that you wanna be Canadian, please**_

 _ **We invented the zipper, we got expertise**_

"DA-ZE!" shouted S. Korea. "No they didn't! Zippers originated from Korea!"

"Yes," said Hong Kong dryly. "Just like Prada purses, like, originated in, like, Hong Kong."

"You Prada faking bastard!" yelled Romano.

"Ve~" Italy hugged Romano, who cursed in Italian and forcefully tried to get him off. "Romano, don't be angry! He just needs pasta!"

Canada smiled at the song.

 _ **We made insulin to combat disease**_

 ** _Yeah I know that you wanna be Canadian, please_**

"I am Canada," said Canada softly. "And Canada rules, maple yeah!"

"What was that, Canada?" asked England, turning his ear to him.

"Canada rules, maple yeah," he answered.

"Actually England rules," sniffed England.

"France is so much better, _mon ami,_ " said France with a flowery twirl of his hair.

"I shall poor scalding tea down your throat then throw you into a cauldron of dark magic!" hissed England.

 _ **Brits have got the monarchy**_

"And a prime minister," sighed England.

 _ **The US has the money**_

"Oh yeah we do," said America, whipping out a hundred dollar bill.

 _ **But I know that you wanna be Canadian**_

"Canada is the best!" yelled Canada softly, as not to disturb anybody. "And that's the mapling truth!"

 _ **The French have got the wine and cheese**_

"I have some here right now," France said, offering Jamaica a glass. She politely refused.

"Why am I not included, mate?" complained Australia, rubbing the bandage on his nose. New Zealand smiled up at him, rams curls hairstyle going in his smiling face.

 _ **Koalas chill with the Aussies**_

"And there I am," Australia nodded sagely, feeding a eucalyptus branch to his evil-looking Koala.

"Why am I not mentioned?" whined New Zealand softly.

"'Cause Canada is best," said Canada. He was liking this song more and more.

"No it's not!" objected S. Korea. "Da-ze, Korea is best!"

 _ **But I know that you wanna be Canadian**_

"The song agrees with me!" said Canada.

"'Cause it's a Canadian song," said America rudely.

 _ **En ci ce n'etait pas assez**_

 _ **On a deux langues officielles:**_

 _ **L'anglais et le francais**_

 _ **Ooh la la**_

"What language is that?" asked America. "Spanish?"

Spain shook his head. "No. Not Spanish."

"It's French," said France in delight.

"Canadian French," said Canada. "English and French are our two official languages."

"I knew you still loved me!" sobbed France into his hankie.

Canada wanted to roll his eyes, but he was too nice to, so he settled for a mental eye roll.

 _ **Yeah I know that you wanna be Canadian, please**_

 _ **Where else do you find mounted police**_

"In Switzerland," muttered Switzerland.

"What does mounted police mean?" asked Liechtenstein.

"Yaoi-" Hungary started to say, but Austria clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Switzerland will shoot you dead if you kill Liechtenstein's innocence!" he hissed.

"Oh please," Hungary rolled her eyes, though her reply was a bit muffled. "Liechtenstein has been corrupted by the internet enough."

"What did you say?" Switzerland loomed over her like a tower.

Hungary responded by glaring at him

 _ **Or go to the hospital and not pay fees**_

 _ **Yeah I know that you wanna be Canadian, please**_

"You don't pay hospital fees?" Haiti asked, poking her broken arm in the sling.

"Yeah," answered Canada. "Anyone injured deserves a chance to heal."

 _ **And when fresh water is in high demand**_

 _ **We've got the world's largest supply on hand**_

"Well, Chicagoans have Lake Michigan!" said America.

"Well, what about the landlocked, really hot states?" asked Canada, smirking.

"Isn't Florida sinking...?" asked England.

America turned bright red.

 _ **So you know that we could make a pretty good friend**_

 _ **But it's even better if you can be...**_

"Canadian!" said Canada, bringing out the pancakes that he had made earlier for lunch.

"Who?" squeaked Kumijiro.

"I just said, so, Canada, Kumikichi," responded Canada nonchalantly, almost boredly, since this was an old, practiced ritual.

 _ **Brits have got the monarchy**_

"Is this the refrain?" asked Japan.

"I think I like it," said England.

Canada poured maple syrup all over his pancakes which were on a plate in front of him.

 _ **The US has the money**_

"EFF yeah we do!" exclaimed America. "And we use it to buy more hamburgers!"

Canada smiled. "You should try pancakes...they taste better." He cut a piece of a pancake off.

"Nothing beats hamburgers, Mattie!"

The nations gaped at the use of the human name in a World Meeting.

 _ **But I know that you wanna be Canadian**_

"Maple yeah!" exclaimed Canada. "My people are the best!" He chewed a piece of his pancakes and swallowed.

 _ **The French have got the wine and cheese**_

France was currently cutting some brie and put it on a cracker, after sipping his glass of wine.

"Please stop offering the wine to me!" groaned Libya.

 _ **Koalas chill with the Aussies**_

"Why do they call my people Aussies?"grumbled Australia. "Mate, why do my own people call themselves Aussies?"

"I have no idea, Aussie," responded America brightly, oblivious to the glare Australia sent him.

"I'm still not mentioned!" complained New Zealand.

Canada spread butter on his pancakes.

 _ **But I know that you wanna be Canadian**_

Canada finished the pancakes and put the plate away.

"How did you finish those?" exclaimed Nicaragua.

"Da," agreed Russia. "It was in record time."

"Canadian superpower," said Canada, inwardly wincing at the words. He wasn't America, for maple's sake!

 _ **So you're thinking to yourself,**_

 _ **"How do I live in this beautiful country?"**_

Japan walked over to Canada.

"Japan?" Canada looked up at Japan

"Canada-san," Japan said. "How can you be so nice, even with your very annoying brother? He is my friend...though I always get very annoyed when I am around him sometimes."

"It's not in a Canadian's nature to be mean," said Canada.

 _ **Well we've got some steps for you to follow...**_

"Let's hear it!" said Canada, hugging Kumijiro closer to him.

"Why?"

"Because you want to live in Canada!" The song was making him bolder.

 _ **STEP 1: Lose the gun**_

"Why?" Switzerland groaned, looking at the gun in his hands.

"Canada is a gun-free zone," said Canada.

"Canada is no fun!" said America, making a face.

"Tell that to the people shot in Chicago from gang violence all the time!" Canada shot back. Wow. The song really was making him bolder...

 _ **STEP 2: Buy a canoe**_

"I do like to canoe," admitted Cameroon.

"Come on down to my place!" said Canada.

 _ **STEP 3: Live multiculturally**_

"Why?" Ecuador frowned. "We already are in a World Meeting..."

"It means no attacking anyone at all, no matter race, gender or sexuality," Canada said. He glared at both Russia and America, the latter oblivious to the icy stare.

"Russia isn't that bad," muttered Hungary, fingering her frying pan.

 _ **STEP 4: You're ready, there is no more!**_

"I wonder why they include Step 4 if there is none," muttered Denmark.

"It improves the song and gives a lighter attitude," Canada frowned at him.

"Canada's got a backbone!" chortled Somalia, smiling to show she meant no harm, it was only a joke.

 _ **We've got beavers, caribou and moose**_

 _ **We've got buffalos, bears and Canadian goose**_

"I have Kumikimari right here," said Canada, holding up the Polar Bear.

Japan thought back to Pochi.

Hungary wished she had her pet here in the Meeting.

 _ **And we're sorry about Celine Dion**_

 _ **But she did write that good song for James Cameron...**_

Canada chose not to say anything as the other nations threw him questioning glances.

 _ **Brits have got the monarchy**_

"There's the theme again and no mention of me," grumbled Prussia. "And I am the most awesome!"

"Well, Brits are the best," said England.

"Americans are!" exclaimed America.

"This entire song is about Canada being the best," said Canada.

 _ **The US has the money**_

"I wonder why they don't include that in other songs..." wondered America. "I mean, Ido have the money..."

"But they say that you wanna be Canadian," pointed out Canada. "They mean it doesn't matter if you have money or not, you want to live in Canada."

 _ **But I know that you wanna be Canadian**_

"See?" Canada gestured in the air. "There it is!"

"They will mention me again," murmured France, sipping his wine.

 _ **The French have got the wine and cheese**_

"I am mentioned again!" exclaimed France.

"Yes, frog, you are," snapped England. "It is the theme after all."

"But I'm the main person in the song," said Canada.

 _ **Koalas chill with the Aussies**_

"There I am again," said Australia. "Mentioned as an 'Aussie'. What's up with that name anyway?"

"I don't know," shrugged Canada, stroking Kumijiro's head. "What do you think, Kumarou?"

"Who?" squeaked Kumijiro.

"Australia wants to know," said Canada.

"I don't know, Canada," squeaked Kumijiro.

"You remembered my name!" cried Canada happily. "Thank you Kumijiro!"

 _ **But I know that you wanna be Canadian**_

"Everyone wants to be Canadian!" exclaimed Canada. He hugged America, who choked on his hamburger.

"I wanna be American!"

 _ **The Greek chilled out with Socrates**_

"Hmm...?" Greece blinked sleepily from where he had been sleeping.

"You missed the entire thing?" exclaimed Algeria.

 _ **Can't build a wall like the Chinese**_

"Exactly, aru," said China happily. "You can't beat the Chinese, aru!"

"But the song is all about Canadians," said Canada.

"Hmph," China snorted disbelievingly.

 _ **But I know that you wanna be Canadian**_

"When is this going to eeend?" groaned Turkey. "I mean, not one word about me!"

"Why would anyone want to sing about you,masked freak!?"

"Not another word, slow retarded cat person!"

Before a brawl could break out, Germany knocked the two out cold.

 _ **In Kenya they have safaris**_

"There I am," sighed Kenya, wrapping her arm around Cameroon's shoulders in a sisterly way.

 _ **We've missed lots of other countries**_

"I'll say," muttered Jordan, wiping her hair back from her face.

 _ **But I know that you wanna be Canadian**_

Silence followed.

Canada felt sorry that the song was over.

"It's over," said America.

"I think we should click more ads," said Canada.

The nations stared at him.

* * *

 **I think that was good, for my first songfic**.


	5. Scars

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

 **These fics aren't going to be all humor and romance. There are going to be angst, darkness, and more, sad, fics. This is my first Dark Hetalia fic, and I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 **Scars**

* * *

Every nation had scars, it was true. Every nation had them. Every nation was also broken down by the weight of the world on their shoulders, and each of them hid it their own way. Each nation also had one particular scar that hurt the most.

* * *

For Canada, his scar is the century-long war between him and France.

It was even worse than the war between his people, and he can _still_ feel the pain from his scars. He hides his broken-down shoulders by sitting quietly in the back, always there, but never really.

His mask is invisibility, because sometimes being invisible is good and sometimes it isn't, but mostly it is good, so they won't have to see the broken nation that lies behind the masked eyes. But at night he clutches painfully at the scars on his arms and his stomach and wonders why they still hurt, why, after almost four hundred years. Why. In the morning he wakes up and covers himself with the mask, and forgets that he ever wondered, and goes back to being invisible Canada.

* * *

America's scar is the civil war.

He can still hear the screams from his people, the screams as the Confederates rose against the Unions, as the bloodiest battle in America erupted, and he can still feel the pain as cannons were shot and muskets were fired and _people were killed._ He can remember curling up in his room and crying out, so loud, for _someone_ to hear him and help him, _someone_ to take his pain away.

He remembers waking up one morning, feeling _hollow_ and _incomplete_ , as if someone had taken him and poured out everything inside him. He remembers feeling his face, and _his glasses are gone._ He remembers seeing another version of himself, but _with_ glasses, he remembers the deep southern accent and the gray uniform, he remembers fighting and fighting and _fighting_ , but who is he fighting for - South or North? He doesn't know. He remembers going _insane_ , remembers the figment of his imagination, the Confederacy, and he remembers fighting with _himself_ and then screaming until his throat is raw.

And he remembers holding a gun to his own head, the figment of his imagination that is the Confederacy holding the gun to his head, and he remembers fighting the Confederacy - but in reality, fighting himself, and if anyone came in while the Confederacy was pointing a gun at him, they would see America pointing the gun at his own head.

Schizophrenia.

That's what they called it.

That's why he wears the mask of being loud and obnoxious, being a hero, so he can pretend to be able fix everyone's problems, to take his mind off his own. And after that, he's always wanted to be a hero, to save people after the feeling of pain, _so much pain_ , that came from his own.

However many times the nations call him an idiot or a rude kid or an obnoxious stuck-up brat, the mask stays on. The mask stays on as long as he wants it to, until night, where he'll stand in front of the mirror and trace the scar on his body, through his stomach and over his back and wrapped around his arms, where his people were divided and fighting. He'll watch and look at the burns and scars that cover his torso and watch with broken eyes. And he'll wake up and put his mask on in the morning as if everything is rainbows and sunshine.

* * *

England's scar is the Revolutionary War.

He still feel the scars every morning. He can feel America rising up against him, ready to kill him if necessary.

He raised America, loving and kind (at least he thought), so it was a shock when suddenly his bones started to ache, and day after day, more and more pain began to cross each step, and he realized America was breaking free.

England can still hear the screams of America's people tortured and killed by his own, and is still disgusted by that. He can hear the cries and tears from his own people as America rose against them. England can still remember dropping to his knees and coughing up blood, and can remember collapsing, blood dribbling from his mouth. He can remember arching his back in pain as America shoots his people, and remembers going out to fight himself. He can remember that with every killing of his soldiers weakened him, but he can remember keeping going.

He masks himself with irritability and scowls. He masks himself with crabbiness and snappiness, always yelling. At night he stoops, exhausted, and he rubs the scars on his back and arms gently, as they start to ache again.

* * *

Russia's scar is the Cold War.

He can still remember the feeling of excruciating pain as America rose up to defeat him, the 'Commie' as he was called.

He never wanted to hurt anybody...the feeling of insanity always took him over and he would black out, and when he would come back to consciousness he would see either Lithuania, Latvia, or Estonia cowering before him, bruised and beaten to the breaking point...even sometimes raped, though Russia would never remember what he had done. He could only remember tremendous rage...then...absolutely nothing...and one by one the Soviet Union went away...and Russia was alone...again...with only Belarus...crazy Belarus who he really didn't want to be alone with. But the loneliness was overwhelming, and sometimes he'll cry into his pillow at night, just to hear sound in the silent house.

His mask is one of strength and smiles. He _is_ innocent, but someone that has endured too much, too young. He likes to smile and pretend that nothing ever happened, but under the scarf, under the innocent smile, under the heavy clothes and violet eyes, there is pain and grief and _scars, hideous, ugly scars,_ that he hides underneath his scarf, _scars_ that are around his neck, from a darker, darker, much darker time, when terrible people ruled him, and when he used to tie a noose around his neck at night to block out all his feelings except for pain.

* * *

France has two scars.

His scar is the Napoleon conquering.

His scar is the German Occupation.

He can remember feeling full of power...only to collapse in pain after the fall.

He can remember feeling powerful, as if he was going to rule the world, ready to fight for every land in the world if he had to. He can remember the pain as clearly as if it was yesterday, feeling the sword of England strike into his power-hungry form, ready to kill him if necessary for him to stop him being insane, to stop him from becoming an England, from becoming a Japan, from becoming pure insanity.

He can remember when Germany took over, invading him and pain, _so much pain,_ that came with it, with the gas that made his vision so blurry he could barely see and burned him from the inside out until he fell under Germany's fist. That night, Germany did what should never have been done, and he remembers all the pain and the ache in his spine and _falling_ , falling to the ground and staying there, sobbing as he was stripped of his clothes and his dignity.

His mask is one of lust and romance, so they won't see his broken soul, so they won't see the fragile nation, so close to _crumbling in on himself_ in emotions, so they won't see anything that goes underneath the bright red and blue, under the rose he holds, under his lusty, romantic eyes. He hates to be called a rapist, since he has experienced it and knows how breaking it is.

* * *

China's scar is the betrayal of Japan.

He remembers when Japan brought him out onto the porch and bringing out his katana, and he remembers when Japan sliced his back down with his katana. He remembers the feeling of gut-wrenching betrayal outweighing the feeling of incredible pain. He remembers collapsing, blood seeping out of his robe. He remembers tears dripping down his face. He remembers Japan backing away, bloody katana in hand, and leaving him there, alone, on the porch, as Taiwan cries out behind him. He remembers thinking that that is what it must feel like to die.

He remembers almost drowning in his own blood.

He remembers drifting in and out of consciousness, spots of pain and hazy vision. He remembers remembering what Japan has done, and he remembers wishing he _had_ died, no pain is as breaking as the pain of being purposefully betrayed and injured and almost left dead by someone he once called a sibling.

He no longer does.

Hong Kong, Taiwan, Thailand, Vietnam and the Koreas pretend to hate him, but he knows they want Japan back.

No matter how much he hurt them.

China's mask is one of hating Japan, is one of being a loving panda-lover one of being still happy and sweet. He pretends he's not as broken as he is. And when he sees Japan, he pretends to hate him, though, in reality, he just wants him back.

* * *

Hungary's scar is the Soviet Union's attack.

She remembers clutching her chest, where her heart is, where her capital is, and remembers crying out in horrible pain, remembers when Budapest was bombed. She remembers blood coming out, staining her military uniform, staining the ground she's standing on. She remembers waking up at night, in pain, hazy yellow spots clouding her vision, and she remembers the white bedsheets stained crimson red, she remembers rolling around in pain, curling up and uncurling herself and crying and yelling and screaming out for _someone, anyone_ to help her, save her from this misery.

She remembers Austria rushing in, against all political reasons to try and take care of her, and she remembers screaming, crying and _screaming, horrible gut-wrenching screaming,_ pain clouding everything around her until the world is fuzzy and she is unable to see.

Her mask is one of indifference, showing that she isn't scared of anything, at all, but at night, when she's in her own house, she'll collapse under the burden of wearing a mask. She'll let one tear drip, then another, until there's a lake in her house, until she's dried out and can't cry anymore.

* * *

Germany's scar is the Nazis and Adolf Hitler.

He remembers thinking how _bad_ of an idea that this is, how he was thinking that Adolf Hitler was being _stupid_ and _irrational_ , not thinking about the _lives_ of people, how they would _die_ after this. He remembers feeling the horror and shock of how many he had _killed_ , Germany remembers it. He can still see the cruel smile on his leader's face, the wicked glint in his eyes, the _insanity_ of his mind, the _instability_ of his thinking.

And Germany remembers having voices in his head, one begging himself to stop this, one crying out for more, more _blood_ , more _death_ , more and more _pain_ , and he remembers hitting his head against the wall of the house until he's screaming and his uniform is soaked in blood, the blood from his broken head, trying to get the voices out of his head when Italy isn't there, and he'll scream at himself until dawn, where he'll slip his mask on, covering bloodshot eyes and bags under them, with sunken cheeks and a paler pallor altogether.

His mask is one of intimidation and commanding, so that they _will not see_ him struggling with the voices in his head, the _evil cruel voices_ and the _other voices_ telling him to do _crazy_ things, telling him to go _insane_ and telling him to wipe out the earth. So that they will _not see_ the part of him that wants _everyone_ to be under his rule and trying to _exterminate_ all of the Jews and _make it stop!_ He remembers screaming that out to the night sky, to make the voices and the blood and death and pain just _stop_ and he can remember seeing Adolf Hitler with that crazy smile on his face, going, _I'll put a bullet in my head, I will,_ and he can still see the blood spraying out from his boss, and he... _surrenders._ It's pitiful and weak, he knows, but it'll prevent more death.

* * *

Italy's scar is the trail of blood he's left behind him.

He's done so much and hurt so many that he can never wash his hands enough; he scrubs and scrubs and _scrubs_ , but no matter how hard he scrubs it's still there, it's always there, the blood that covers his hands and and stains them and _drips, always dripping_ as he cries. He may seem innocent and weak, but he has so much blood on his hands, _too much._ He is very old, after all, older than Germany, older than America, old enough to remember a blonde, blue-eyed boy that left and never returned.

Wherever he walks, he can feel blood in his hair, dripping into his eyes, covering his clothes, and _his hands, there's too much on his hands, so much he can't deal with it,_ and the metallic scent of it is _nauseating_ and _disgusting_ and all he wants to do is cry.

And then Germany becomes ugly and power hungry and _cruel_ , and when his best friend _turns on him_ and _hurts_ him he can't help but wonder if _this is what he deserves,_ for leaving a trail of blood behind him, for being so bloodthirsty and being such a monster.

He switches sides, siding with the allies and feeling _guilt, so much guilt_ when he sees Germany's broken and betrayed eyes, and he turns away. After all, self preservation is all he's been good for, _crushing_ and _stepping on others_ on his way to survival. _And he runs._

It's all he can do. He wants to survive, and he can't help but think of that blonde, blue-eyed boy he kissed and his resemblance to Germany. And, like so many other times, he cries.

* * *

Austria's scar is Auschwitz.

He _does_ have a Jewish last name, after all. And Germany, _crazy, terrible Germany_ didn't spare anyone on his ruthless path to power.

After the annex, Germany tosses him aside, giving him a new name, an ugly, disrespectful name of _Ostmark, East Border_ and he remembers that iron cross, that black uniform that he wore and that Prussia tried to stop him from donning. Germany never listened.

It takes only a little while before Germany is completely lost to the brainwashing of his leader and the _insanity_ of his ideas and Austria is shipped of to that terrible place, the place that still gives him nightmares, the place where he had to stay in a _wheelchair_ for _years_ afterward.

 _The Death Camp Auschwitz._

He's dropped off and refuses to cry, even when his glasses are snapped in half and thrown away by sneering Nazi officers, even when his beautiful dark locks are shaven, _painfully and recklessly shaven, falling around his feet as he blinks his eyes in an effort to stop the stinging of tears._ He finds Poland in there, and they stay together until they are found out and Poland is shipped off to Dachau and still he never cries.

He remembers all the _horror, the pain and the agony, oh the agony_ as he works and he works and he _works himself to death_ but nations can't die and no matter how many times they kill him he _always comes back,_ he comes back stronger and fiercer and _more broken every time._

And they do experiments on him, since he always comes back and it _hurts_ , it _hurts so much_ and nobody saves him, and _he's poked and prodded and cut and sliced and torn apart._ He feels every death of his people, and he feels the hopelessness and the _despair_ that has set in and he _can't bring himself to care._

It's only until he's brought out and is safe and sound but still _so hurt_ that he finally cries, tears trailing from cloudy eyes that have seen so much, have felt so much, and have lost so much.

He has the numbers on his shoulder, the brand of death that will never go away, not as long as they remember, not as long as _he_ remembers, and he remembers, oh, he _remembers_ , and he remembers _too_ _well_ , he remembers _too much._

* * *

Japan's scar is World War II.

He and his _high and mighty dreams_ of being the Empire of Japan, of trying to conquer everything. He remembers bombing America, trying to force his best friend into a war that America never wanted to be part of, but that was Japan's boss...since this was Japan's _best friend_ he didn't want to hurt him like he _killed Hong Kong every night_ and how he hurt Taiwan, how Korea stared up at him whenever he entered, such _hatred_ in his eyes that was not right for someone _so young,_ how he was going _insane_ in that crazy, imperial mind of his, how he was trying to become an _England_ who tried to _conquer the world_ but _failed_ , and Japan was turning into the nation, at a much higher level.

He remembers the sudden _pain_ and the _cold, cold voice_ of America, and he remembers crying out in horrible, awful _agony_ that he can't stop...it hurts so much...and all he wants to do is crawl back into China's lap but he can't do that either since _China isn't his Nii-san anymore_ and has never been, ever since that night where he _sliced his back in half_ and _ran_ , leaving him to _die_ as he _ran_ like a _coward_ and now China hates him...Japan remembers the pain all too well.

He looks in the mirror every night, takes off his shirt and looks at his back in the mirror, where two _pulsing, throbbing purple wounds_ are, where they _still hurt_ and he dabs at them with the salve, wincing at every touch, and when Korea peeks in once Korea _touches_ him _exactly_ where Hiroshima is, and the _pain_ is so _blindingly swift_ that he punches Korea in the chin, and he always says he's sorry but Korea obviously doesn't believe him and leaves, and Japan sinks to the floor, the wounds on his back throbbing and pounding painfully so he feels like he's going to vomit...

He hides the wounds, pretending they've healed, so that they won't ask him about it anymore.

He doesn't like to be hugged.

It hurts to be hugged.

Japan likes to be reserved because of this.

He trusts no one.

Japan doesn't have a mask.

He has soulless eyes.

That's why the nations hate to look into his eyes; they'll see broken, jagged shards of glass, they'll see crazy and sadness, and not an ounce of happiness. And they'll see _themselves_ reflected in his eyes.

And they hate it.

So they hate his eyes.

And Japan is okay with that.

Because that means they won't hurt him.

Like someone else did.

* * *

Prussia's scar is the worst.

He doesn't have scar because of a waging battle in him.

He doesn't have an emotional scar that hurts as bad, either.

When he takes his shirt off at night, though, he'll see the _remains_ of Prussia, not the great kingdom he once was.

He'll see ribs that stick out of his body. He'll see frail, fragile skin. And worst of all, he'll see _it._

He'll see the painful scar that describes what he is.

An _ex_ -nation.

The X across his heart is rough and pink, but white around the edges. He can see it in his mind whenever he closes his eyes. Whenever he opens them. Anywhere, he can see the scar.

And when he sees it, he can feel the pain of being dissolved again.

Because...he is Prussia...but he isn't...he is nothing.


	6. Paintball

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

 **Calistrophia: Thanks for the tip, and I hope I gave Canada justice...that was the point...I also wanted to write some angst. :) And I love the way Japan, Prussia and Russia made you tear up! MUAHAHAHAHA!**

 **I am here guys! Thanks for reviewing, and you know, I usually want to write a chapter after I have at** _ **least**_ **one review on that chapter. My new policy!**

 **Also, I might not get back to this for, like, until August, 'cause I'm going to these prestigious Camps that don't allow electronic devices, this Saturday; meaning four weeks in Indiana with only a phone which really doesn't work well with FF, and the rest of the month and a half will be spent in Europe, and my phone only gets Internet in the US. :( Sorry guys. I'm giving you this message with a new chapter, 'cause I hate it when other Authors just give you Authors Notes and no new chapter to explain that they might not get to it. Enjoy.**

* * *

 **Paintball**

* * *

 **A Random Forest In America**

"And... _why_ exactly did you bloody wanker want us all here!?" exploded England, who had been bitten by a mosquito for the thirtieth time that afternoon.

"Well, since you're slow and unsmart," said America, flashing a grin with a hamburger in his hand. "I gathered you all here for a Paintball War!"

There was a moment of silence. Then everything went to hell.

 _"Paintball!?_ Liechtenstein will not join-"

"What were you thinking _amigo_ -"

"Land-stealing taco-stereotyping idiot-"

"Hamburger-eating bastard-"

 _"Non, mon ami,_ simply atrocious-"

"This is worse than Japan's _nikajuga_ which he constantly flouts in my face, that bloody idio-"

"I am very close to unsheathing my katana-"

"Where's my wok-"

"Vodkaaaaaaa!"

"Pastaaaaaaaa!"

"Marrymemarrymemarryme-"

"The Awesome Prussia is not impressed-"

"Shut up! I'll hit you with my frying pan you-"

"I shall show my anger in Mozart-"

 _"QUIET!"_

The nations stopped talking when Germany roared his anger. His face was red. "We shall let America speak his _idiotic_ mind!"

"I want this game so you can work out your aggressions!" said America with a flashy grin.

"The rules of the game are that there will be teams! You will all be suited up to your team's color, and if _you_ are shot-with paint-you are out, but the rest of your team is not! You can have other than the paintball gun, a weapon of choice, such as a knife or katana or something!" yelled Germany. "The 'Out' zone is this building! Understood?"

The nations all murmured out a yes.

"Put all your nametags into this basket!" bellowed Germany, and passed out a basket.

Soon the basket was filled.

"I shall pull out each nametag to assign them to a team!" said Germany commandingly. "The teams shall be chosen like that! Some teams will have four and some will have three and some two!"

Belarus smiled smugly as she had clipped her nametag onto Russia's.

There was grumbling in all of the nations, but they assented.

"Very well!" said Germany. "I shall proceed to reading the groups."

He took a basket and grabbed three nametags and a color. "Scarlet red, France, America, England, Can - _who?_ Who is _Canada?!_ "

England's eyes went wide with shock. "Th-that _frog!?"_

"Come on Iggy," America grabbed England's arm and pulled him towards France and the two held him in a bear hug; if bear hugs were meant for capture.

Canada sighed, padding quietly (invisibly) over to them.

"Crimson red, Russia and China!"

China went towards Russia, only to tremble when Russia smiled widely at him, a little creepily.

Belarus's eyes widened with fury and she stabbed the wall next to her. She was _sure_ that she had clipped it onto the right nametag! But...she had used her senses to find _one_ of her siblings nametags... _Ukraine!?_

"Ah well. Black, Austria, Prussia, Hungary, Japan!"

Austria shook his head in disbelief and stayed where he was beside Hungary, while Prussia swaggered over to them as if he ruled the world, his crimson eyes joyful. Hungary swung her frying pan with an evil glint in her eye, and Japan walked over from next to Italy, bringing out his katana, but not before he touched the bandage-patches on his cheek and forehead.

"Tuscan red, Mexico, Italy, Romano, Spain!"

After walking to Spain, Mexico glared at the basket next to Germany, his dark brown eyes cold and unforgiving for putting him with his so-called _padre._ Spain looked sadly at Mexico, his forehead crinkling as he wondered why he had done so much to make his son hate him.

"Potato-eating bastard," muttered Romano, glaring at Germany. "Hey stupid!" he yelled at Italy.

"Ve~" Italy skipped over to his brother and the two walked over to Spain and Mexico.

"Pale peach, El Salvador, Santo Domingo, Nicaragua, Cuba!"

El Salvador huffed as he pulled Santo Domingo in for a hug, his tanned, freckled face pulling into a smile, black hair smoothed out and his bright brown eyes sparkling. Santo Domingo smiled, pale tan face crinkling, light gray eyes twinkling and brown-red hair messy. Cuba rolled his eyes as he walked over to join them and Nicaragua skipped over, his black hair flying in the...uh...air conditioner breeze.

"Hot pink, Costa Rica, Bahamas, Puerto Rico, Bermuda!"

"That is, like, so, like, totally unfair!" complained Poland. "I, like, _wanted_ hot pink!"

"Q-quiet!" hissed Latvia, eyes darting fearfully around the room. "R-Russia is h-here!"

"Liet, can you, like, calm Latvia, like, down?" asked Poland.

Bahamas looked disgruntled to be paired with three female nations, but he showed it only with a small frown. Costa Rica smiled, her eyes wide with joy as she hugged her sister Puerto Rico and the two walked over to Bahamas, who was waiting with a smiling Bermuda, who had been applying lipstick to her already very pink lips.

"Dark pink, Guyana, Suriname, Guiana!"

The three male nations were already together, so they shrugged and huddled together even closer, though indignant about getting _pink_ as a color.

"Magenta, Uruguay, Argentina, Chile!"

Uruguay walked over to his two brothers, and the three stayed close.

"Neon pink, Peru, Ecuador, Guatemala!"

Peru rolled his eyes and muttered, "Ecuador, my brother, I would say that you shouldn't do anything stupid. But you will anyway." and walked over to Ecuador, Guatemala coming from the opposite side, her long billowy skirt fluttering around her.

"Pale yellow, Iceland, Norway, Denmark!"

The three Nordics were already standing in a corner of the large (comfortable, since there were sofas everywhere, though nobody was sitting on any of them) room, and Denmark shoved Sweden and Finland out of their "Nordic" circle. Sweden and Finland spluttered with indignance.

"Neon yellow, Sweden, Finland, Moldova!"

Sweden put an arm around Finland and they walked over to the young child, who smiled widely, unafraid as he was, like, nine.

"Dark yellow, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania!"

The three Baltics didn't move an inch from where they were standing, trembling together, with Poland at the side.

"Pale orange, Romania, Belgium, Bulgaria!"

Romania smiled wickedly, showing off his sharp, vampire fangs. Belgium wandered over to him, swinging her polka-dot umbrella in her hands, with Bulgaria following, a disgusted look on his face, most likely thrown to France, who was now trying to seduce England.

"Neon orange, Ireland, Scotland, Wales!"

England stopped fighting with France to sneak a peek at his three brothers; Scotland was currently smacking Wales on his head as Ireland thrust a four-leaf clover into Scotland's face.

"Dark orange, Netherlands, and Luxembourg!"

The two nations were siblings, though on opposite sides of the room. Netherlands scowled, though walking forward, patting his head to make sure his hair was spiky. Luxembourg joined him, his blonde hair cut longer than normal, chatting away.

"Pale green, Germany...um...I mean me, Greece, and Turkey."

Greece growled. "Mask-wearing freak."

Turkey moved towards him. "Cat-loving retard!"

 _"DON'T FIGHT!"_ roared Germany. _"COME STAND NEXT TO ME!"_

Turkey and Greece walked to the front of the room, glaring daggers at each other.

"Mint green, Poland, Slovenia, Slovakia!"

"That is, like, so fab!" Poland exclaimed, picking up the skirts of his pink dress and walked forward in his heels, towards the brothers Slovakia and Slovenia, both who rolled their eyes at his words.

"Don't you think you should wear something more... _befitting_ for outdoor activities, Gospa (Madam) Poland?" asked Slovenia sincerely. He and Slovakia both truly believed Poland was a girl.

"Nah, it's, like, totes fine!" said Poland.

"You sure, Pani (Madam) Poland?" said Slovakia.

"Totally!"

"Lime green, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Singapore!"

Switzerland pulled Liechtenstein closer to him, as the female nation of Singapore came running, her flowery pink dress spreading behind her.

"Protect me!" she begged.

Switzerland sighed, feeling the burden of having to be the bodyguard of both Liechtenstein and Singapore.

"Just kidding," said Singapore and brought out a machine gun, a wicked smile curving on her lips. Switzerland nodded sharply, approving her weapon. Singapore grinned.

"Parrot green, Bosnia, Macedonia, Albania!"

The three male nations crossed the room to stick together.

There were clumps of nations all over the room; the teams were here and there, and the nations that hadn't been assigned to a team yet were all in one group.

"Emerald green, Cyprus, Syria, Portugal!"

Cyprus crossed the room, tripping over his own feet, and joined Portugal, who rolled his eyes, both gazing in pity at Syria. Syria limped over to them, a cast on his ankle, and bandaged all over. His lip was split, yet a gun rested on his shoulder. The civil war between his people was hurting him every day, one could see that.

"Neon green-"

"FREAKY MASKED WIERDO!"

"SLOW RETARD!"

"SHUT UP!" Germany grabbed duct tape and taped Greece and Turkey's mouths shut.

"Neon green," continued Germany after binding their hands with ropes. "Lebanon, Oman, Kuwait!"

The three male nations made their own group at the back of the room.

"Forest green, Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia!"

The twins Iraq and Iran walked towards the tall, long-robed figure of Saudi Arabia. Iraq's eyes were flashing and he seemed to be arguing with Iran, who, in turn, was also talking angrily, her lips turned down in a frown.

"Dark green, Abu Dhabi, Qatar, Azerbaijan!"

The three male nations went in closer together.

Belarus tapped her foot impatiently. _When am_ I _going to be picked? Maybe I can marry Russia in the confusion of the Paintball players..._

"Pale blue, Turkmenistan, Afghanistan, Kazakhstan!"

Turkmenistan walked over to where Afghanistan was standing with a scowl on his face. Afghanistan flashed a huge grin at his neatly trimmed fingernails, as Kazakhstan walked over slowly, with a smooth and lilting gait to his steps.

"Sky blue, India, Ne...Nepal...und Mongolia."

India tipped his fedora and gave Pakistan a quick peck on the cheek before walking over to Nepal. Mongolia fingered his bow and arrow and walked over to the two, long braid swinging behind him. Nepal gave the two a weak smile, lifting his arm which was in a cast. His legs were too, and his middle was bandaged with a patch to his cheek and a bandage around his head. He was sitting in a wheelchair.

The 2015 Nepal Earthquake had wounded him terribly.

India, after looking at his wounded friend, pulled his sleeves up to look at the stained crimson bandages, remembering that fateful day when Nepal was hit by that _awful, horrible_ earthquake. It had affected him.

The other nations, after looking at Nepal and India, glanced at Tibet. The female nation was currently sporting a cast on her wrist and bandages around her head. The earthquake had affected her, too.

Mongolia was unaffected, however.

"Alice blue, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Bhutan!"

Tajikistan curled his lip upwards in a way that was supposed to be a smile, but looked like a grimace, and pulled Kyrgyzstan with him, who rolled his eyes. Bhutan waited for them, his foot tapping impatiently.

"Baby blue-"

"YOU FREAKING MASKED IDIOT!"

"SERIOUSLY? THAT'S THE BEST YOU GOT, RETARDED CAT GUY!?"

"THAT'S _YOUR_ ONLY INSULT TOO!"

"YOU INSULTING MY ABILITY TO INSULT, RETARDED WEIRDO-"

 _"HALT DIE KLAPPE!"_

Somehow Turkey and Greece had managed to get rid of the tape binding their mouths shut. Germany taped their mouths shut and glued another piece of tape onto that with super glue.

"Baby blue, Myanmar, Laos, Brunei!"

Laos and Brunei were both already together, each male nation's mouths turned up in a smile. Myanmar walked over, stealing glances at the two, his eyes filled with amusement. The two were so cute together!

"Blue-gray, Korea, Hong Kong!"

"Huh?" Hong Kong looked around for where his brother was.

"DA-ZE! YOUR BREASTS ARE MINE!"

"What-" Hong Kong was thrown to the ground as Korea tackled him. The other nations ignored the wrestling pair on the ground and turned their attention back to Germany.

"Blue-green, East Timor, Palau, Micronesia!"

The three island nations were already together, and just moved closer to each other.

"Cerulean blue, Australia, New Zealand, Fiji!"

Australia ruffled the hair on his younger brother's head, New Zealand shaking his hand off, when Fiji ran up to them, her long curly hair streaming behind her, muscular legs pumping wildly. She was a short nation.

"Cobalt blue, Morocco, Tunisia, Algeria!"

The three African nations sadly parted themselves from the African nations and formed a group.

"Cornflower blue, Libya, Nigeria, Chad!"

The three nations formed a group.

"Electric blue, Egypt, Cameroon, Seychelles!"

Egypt kept his eyes on the ground as he walked over to his smiling sister. Seychelles really knew how to grin. Cameroon walked over to them.

"Indigo, Sudan, Eritrea, Djibouti!"

The three male nations smiled at each other.

"Light blue, Ethiopia, Niger, Senegal!"

The three broke apart from the rest, and were probably plotting something, by the look on their faces.

"Midnight blue, Gambia, Guinea, Burkina Faso!"

The male nations smiled at each other happily.

"Navy blue, Togo, Ghana, Benin!"

Togo walked away from his fellow tiny island nations, towards Ghana and Benin, the two African nations.

"Periwinkle blue, Gabon, Congo, Rwanda!"

Gabon smiled to Congo, his brow creasing. Congo walked over with a scowl on his face. Rwanda frowned.

"I just realized my name sounds like a girl's! I'm a _man!"_

"Sure you are."

"Powder blue, Burundi, Uganda, Namibia!"

Burundi sniffed the rose he was carrying and Uganda skipped over to him, still intoxinated from his last night's Schnaps. Namibia led him by the hand, afraid that his brother would keel over from alcohol then and there.

"Royal blue, Botswana, Zimbabwe, South Africa!"

"OOH! I'm royalty!" Botswana grinned, his teeth sparkling.

"Shut up," growled Zimbabwe. He was not in a good mood.

"I know you know you're not royalty," sighed South Africa, closing his eyes.

"That's confusing..." Botswana trailed off at the furious look on Zimbabwe's face; Zimbabwe was almost as bad as Russia when he was in a bad mood!

"Teal, Swaziland, Lesotho, Mali!"

Swaziland rolled his eyes as Lesotho made a face at Germany. Mali sniffed, turning her nose away from them.

"True blue, Montenegro, Uzbekistan, Yemen."

Montenegro gulped and his eyes widened in fear as the two female nations approached him, weapons in hand; Uzbekistan held a rifle and Yemen held shotgun.

"Turquoise, Alaska, Haiti, Jamaica!"

Alaska turned in her blue parka, walking towards Haiti. Jamaica joined, her dreadlocks falling in her face. Haiti's arm was in a sling and she looked as if she had just heard the news that a puppy died.

"Ultramarine, Belize, Honduras, Panama!"

Belize picked up her compact and opened it, looking at the mirror, applying scarlet lipstick that went "so well" with her dark gray eyeshadow. Honduras went over to her when it became clear that Belize would not go over to her. She pulled her black hair in a ponytail, and grabbed Panama with her, who looked almost identical, except for the fact that Panama didn't have a cute mole on her cheek, and wore golden hoop earrings and had a braid.

"Violet-blue, Brazil, Colombia, Venezuela!"

Colombia walked over to Brazil, her dark brown hair falling over her dark brown shoulders. Brazil smiled, her light brown skin perfectly smooth and tanned from the sun. Venezuela brushed the two braided strands of hair from her dark face and pulled her hair into a ponytail after walking towards Brazil.

"Pale purple, Bolivia, Paraguay, Philippines!"

Philippines walked over to Bolivia, her red shirt sliding down a little. Bolivia grinned, her smile so infectious that Paraguay started smiling as well, though she clapped a hand over her mouth to show that she _hadn't_ been smiling.

"Neon purple, Greenland, Jordan, Malta!"

Denmark's little sister, Greenland, who was not one of the Nordic Five, walked over to Jordan with a smirk. Jordan rolled her eyes, stabbing her high-heeled gym shoes on Greenland's foot, her hair pulled back in a rushed, messy bun that was somehow still beautiful. Greenland and Jordan started a fight, with Malta tossing her long, _long_ black hair over her shoulder and watching the fight nonchalantly.

"Dark purple, Belarus, Ukraine, Monaco!"

Belarus gritted her teeth. _I wanted_ Russia... _not_ Ukraine... _stupid sibling senses..._

Monaco walked over to Belarus, her long braid swinging behind her. Ukraine followed her, BA-BOINGing with each step.

"Wine purple, Croatia, Serbia, Israel!"

Croatia smiled, pushing her glasses up her nose and pushing her dark blonde hair behind her ear; she had a bob cut. Serbia joined her, her dark red hair cut just below her ear, and her glasses crooked on her nose. Israel scowled, already in her military uniform. Croatia did a double-take when she saw Israel's eyes; Israel had one brown eye and one blue eye, with flyaway brown hair under her military cap.

"Eggplant purple, Papua, Samoa, Georgia!"

Papua had her traditional native wear on; a flowery headdress, nude torso, long necklace, and a short grass-woven skirt. That involved a lot of staring from the male nations at the exposed breasts, but Samoa was there to cover her up. Samoa was her twin sister, who wore modern clothing. Georgia stared at Papua.

"We're gonna need to get you a bra," she muttered.

"Fuchsia purple, Armenia, Cambodia, Malaysia!"

Armenia lifted her skirts up, and bumped into Malaysia, her four long braids of black hair flying backwards with the force. Malaysia patted her own head to make sure her carefully pinned up black hair was still in place. Cambodia hurried over to them, her brown eyes glinting in amusement.

"Plum purple, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Thailand!"

Thailand led his elephant into the middle of the room, and Bangladesh immediately started to coo over how cute he was, her bangles jangling, while Pakistan fixed her headcover and rolled her eyes at the two overdramatic nations.

"Lavender, Indonesia, Tonga, Sahara!"

Indonesia and Tonga shared secret looks together, and Indonesia rubbed her hands together, while Tonga walked over to Indonesia, her feet making gentle pitter-patter noises. The female personification of the Sahara Desert shivered.

"Lilac purple, Mauritania, Somalia, Sierra Leone!"

The three African nations split apart from the stragglers to form their own Girl Power group.

"Mauve, Ivory Coast, Kenya, Tanzania!"

Ivory grabbed her sisters Kenya and Tanzania and pulled them in for a rib-crushing hug.

"Mulberry, Zambia, Angola, Malawi!"

Zambia grinned and Angola gulped, the two female African nations with completely different personalities waiting for Malawi, who eventually showed up.

"Red-violet, Mozambique, Mauritius, Madagascar!"

Mozambique and Madagascar, African sisters, headed towards the Micronesian Mauritius, who, for some reason, always held a basket of passion fruits.

"Last, violet, Taiwan, Vietnam, Tibet!"

Taiwan pulled Vietnam in for a hug, grinning. Tibet limped towards them, a hard set of determination on her face.

"Let the games begin!" roared Germany.

"You sound like the Hunger Games," muttered America.

* * *

 **Team Scarlet**

The first ones to get out were not, surprisingly, the Baltic States. No. In fact, it was Team Scarlet Red.

"That's it," snarled England, whirling around on France, who had been whispering romantic nothings into his ear all the way along, and what didn't help was the fact that he had been just bitten by his one-hundred-thirteenth mosquito. "I can't take another bloody second with you!"

France widened his eyes. "Angleterre...what do you mean?"

"Hahahaha," laughed America nervously. "Let's all calm down now, shall we?"

Canada said nothing.

England pointed the paintball gun at him. "It means...this ends _now!"_ He fired a pellet of paint at France.

France dodged it, and it hit something nearby.

"OW!"

Or someone.

Chile came out from the undergrowth and threw his gun on the ground, muttering. He stomped away.

France looked at England. "It is on."

The two fired at each other, and America dove in between them, yelling, "NOOOOO!"

The two pellets splashed America on both sides, and the splatters of paint got both England and France. Even a small splatter of paint got on _Canada,_ who had been waiting inside a bush.

America threw his gun on the ground. "It's not fair! I'm the hero! I should win!"

France glared at England and walked towards the Dead Zone. England followed him, with America crying on Canada's shoulder, who walked to the Dead Zone as well.

* * *

 **Team Crimson Red**

China gulped nervously around him, in his crimson red uniform. "AIYAAA...where are you Russia, aru!"

He could only see a panda bear right next to him...when a SPLAT came on his chest and he saw scarlet red drip down his front. The panda took off his head to reveal Russia.

"Ah, the Team Scarlet got you, da?"

Russia whacked his pipe as someone jumped at him.

"OOOWW!" England held a hand to his throbbing face. "Bloody hell, Russia! What was that for?"

"Are you still in the game?" Russia asked, holding his pipe threateningly.

"Bloody hell, no!" yelled England. Russia took in the scarlet paint splattered on his front and face.

"You and France shot each other, da?" smiled Russia.

"Yeah," grumbled England.

"And then I shot someone before I got splattered," said Canada, coming up behind England.

"Me!" howled China.

"AAAAGH!" Russia screamed.

China and the others looked over to see Russia start running away from a streak of dark purple behind him.

"Brother...marrymemarrymemarrymemarrymemarry..." the voice faded into the distance.

China stared after him.

"Ai-yah...I guess I have to go to the Dead Zone, aru..." he muttered. France, America, Canada and England grabbed him.

"We are too, so you're coming with us!"

* * *

 **Team Black**

Prussia yawned, holding his gun by the tips of his fingers. "Someone just shoot me already...I'm bored."

 _"Gut, gut,"_ smirked Austria, and shot him, splattering paint all over both Prussia and the bushes behind him. Someone let out a string of curses in Spanish; Ecuador walked out of the undergrowth and glared at Austria, taking the wet black paint off his own uniform.

Prussia shot Austria, and the two cursed each other out in German as they went to the Dead Zone, each trying to get there faster than the other.

Hungary and Japan glanced at each other, one mission in their heads. _Get a picture of both yuri and yaoi. Stat._

Hungary whispered, "I'll take Spain and Romano."

"Poland and Lithuania are mine," whispered Japan, his soulless eyes gleaming.

"Mission, start!" yelled Hungary.

* * *

 **Team Dark Purple**

Before Monaco even had a chance to take a step, Belarus already zoomed into the forest. "MARRY MEEEEEEEEE..."

She found Russia and pinned him to a tree. "Marry me..."

Hungary passed them by.

"Help me..." groaned Russia.

Hungary headed towards them, snapped a picture, and left.

* * *

 **Team Tuscan Red**

Mexico glared at Spain, who was in a heated discussion with Romano.

Italy fell onto the ground, and then Romano tripped over him, then fell right onto Spain, and the two accidentally kissed.

There was a flash of light. Spain and Romano broke apart to look up. Mexico looked up as well, and Italy fell asleep on the ground. Hungary was holding a camera and was perched on a branch in a tree above them. "Awww," she cooed. "So sweet!" She leapt away.

"What just happened?" Mexico voiced the question all of them were asking.

"I have no idea...HEY!" Spain fingered the black paint dripping down his side, and all over Romano.

"Too bad," Japan said coolly, and sheathed his katana.

"PASTAAAAA~"

* * *

 **The Dead Zone**

"So...who's out?" asked America. He was sitting on a sofa, getting scarlet pain all over it.

"All of Team Magenta," said Argentina gloomily. He was sporting neon pink paint, and so was Uruguay. Chile glared at America.

"It's Team Scarlet's fault that _I'm_ out!"

"Ukraine is out as well," said Netherlands, inclining his head towards her.

"So...who's in?" asked America.

"Some of Team Crimson, half of Team Black, Team Tuscan, Team Pale Green, Team Sky Blue, Team Violet, Team Eggplant, Team Cerulean, Team Blue-Gray, Team Dark Purple and Team Wine Purple," rattled off Honduras, who had gotten out from Liechtenstein's gun. The rest of her team had gotten out from Team Eggplant. Liechtenstein herself had fallen prey to Team Crimson; Russia, and the rest of Liechtenstein's team was prey to Japan.

"Who's Team Crimson?"

"Well...Russia is the one that is left of it."

"AIYAA! Don't insult me, aru!"

"Hungary and Japan are left of Team Black...they are ignoring the point of the game and are snapping pictures of yaoi kissing and yuri kissing. I should know...they caught me with Norway..."

"Denmark! I thought that was our secret!"

"Too bad, Nor!"

"Team Tuscan is still in...Mexico, Spain, Romano, Italy..."

"Ve~"

"Not anymore." Spain let black paint drip from his fingers. "Japan got me and Romano, after Hungary snapped a picture of us."

Mexico scowled, letting the pale green paint splatter onto the floor. "Germany got me out...Italy tried to stop him...got splattered as well...the idiot."

"RETARDED FREAKY CAT FREAK!"

"MASKED WEIRDO!"

"YOU ARE A FREAKY CAT!"

"Um...what?"

"SHUT UP!"

Denmark apparently had enough and knocked the two out with his axe.

"Apparently Turkey and Greece are out too..."

"What about India, Nepal and Mongolia?" Romano asked, too stunned by the fact that he had just _kissed_ Spain to use any swear words.

"Nepal and I are out," said Mongolia, walking in, pushing Nepal. "Liechtenstein got us out. India ditched us and went to look for Pakistan...she's still in."

"I got out half an hour ago..."

"What about Tibet, Vietnam and Taiwan, aru?"

"Taiwan and Vietnam went to chase after Honduras and I got attacked by Sweden before he was shot by Lithuania."

"Taiwan and I are out...she shot us quickly."

"Papua, Samoa and Georgia are still in, mon ami..."

"She uses her nude torso to entrance the male nations then Samoa shoots them and then Georgia hits them on the head with a spatula!" Rwanda broke down sobbing.

"Not anymore...Hungary shot me when I shot Rwanda..." the male nations stared at Papua.

"I think Team Black is going to win this..."

"Who else is still in?"

"Team Crimson; Russia, Team Cerulean; Australia, New Zealand and Fiji, Team Blue-Gray; Hong Kong and Korea, the remnants of Team Dark Purple; Belarus and Monaco, and Team Wine Purple; Croatia, Serbia and Israel, aru!"

"Not me, da," Russia said. "Hungary got me."

* * *

 **Team Black**

Hungary smirked; she was sure she was going to win this. She cocked her gun and pointed it at Fiji's back. The sharp CRACK of a gun shooting came from behind her, and she whirled, sure she had gotten out, but Japan stood in front of her.

"We are going to win this," he said calmly, and wiped his paint-splattered katana on the ground. Hungary shot Fiji quickly, then, as New Zealand and Australia whirled around, stuck them as well in her snipers pose; she had learned the trick from Canada.

"DA-ZE! Your breasts are mine!" Korea attacked Japan, jumping at him. Japan fell off the branch, but in the meantime, managed to shoot Korea in the stomach. Hong Kong aimed at Japan; Hungary shot him as well.

"Belarus!" she shouted.

"Hmmm?" Belarus looked up.

"Can I shoot you?" asked Hungary. "It'll get you closer to Russia..."

"Yes!" shouted Belarus. "Shoot me quickly!"

"Belarus..." Monaco grabbed Belarus' arm. "That's not a good idea!"

CRACK! Hungary shot both of them.

Croatia and Serbia snuck up on Japan; bad idea. He shot them both. And Israel climbed up to Hungary. Even worse idea. Hungary shot her, and yelled in victory.

"We won!"

* * *

 **The Dead Zone**

"Team Black has won," came over the loudspeaker.

There was a moment of silence.

"Called it!" Sealand smirked.

 **A/N**

 **I feel like this one was crappy...but I needed to give you guys something before I left, so here it is.**

 **And believe it or not, but** _ **Paintball**_ **was supposed to be BEFORE** _ **Scars,**_ **not after.**


	7. Struggles Between Christmas & Hanukkah

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

 **Calistrophia: Thanks! I intended for Team Scarlet to be funny, though I'm not sure where you see CanHun in this...XD**

 **Blue1272000: I changed this chapter up... _drastically._ Much more spread out for whoever reads this!**

* * *

 **Austria**

* * *

With a small sigh, Austria packed his bags for the World Meeting. These meetings were of no use whatsoever; mostly people started fighting, and nothing got done. Hint, hint; France and England, Hungary and Romania, America and Russia - the list went on and on forever.

He was in Delhi, India, to which he had flown at night, leaving Kugelmugel behind with strict instructions _not_ to paint the piano pink again. When it had happened, Prussia had laughed so loudly he started crying, while Austria was frantically scrubbing at the paint, and Kugelmugel was busily painting black curlicues on the red-and-white walls. Austria had blown a gasket, yelling at Kugelmugel, but calming down and telling him that he could paint the Austrian Eagle on the wall - his flag had a black eagle similar to Prussia's, but a little different - where the flag was already painted on.

Walking over to where the Meeting was taking place, he noticed small lights hanging on one of the houses. That was strange. What were they for? He checked the date. December Fifteenth. Nothing special, nothing special at all. Nothing special, except for the fact that it was Christmas season.

Shaking all thoughts of the holiday from his head, he entered the building, absentmindedly fingering the silver cross hanging off the silver chain around his neck. He'd never once taken it off, ever since Prussia had given it to him in 500 B.C. Yes. They were _that_ old. Under different names, yes, but they were there. Young and stupid and _naïve,_ but they were nations.

Letting go of the cross, he stepped into the elevator, and subconsciously rubbed the scars on the front of his left shoulder. He walked down the hall after stepping out of the elevator, opening the door to the meeting, and slipping into his assigned spot next to _East Germany,_ a.k.a Prussia. The meeting started in thirty seconds.

At exactly one p.m, India got up, the ticka on his forehead crimson red, standing out against his skin. With a smile, he introduced Sri Lanka, a grinning young woman with loose papers in her hand and a bunch of terrible puns in the other. She thanked "Big Brother India" for letting her speak, and started her presentation on Global Warming, when America interrupted with something incredibly irrelevant.

"Hey dudes and dudettes!" Cue Monaco rolling her eyes and wrapping her arm around Picardy. "Ya know that Christmas is coming up soon, right?" A bunch of eyerolls, nods, and murmured agreements, and a Seychelles with a bored sigh. "I'm saying that Christmas is the best holiday for everyone!" Austria froze. "Everyone should come and celebrate Christmas, not Hanikka and Chikikka or somethin' like that!" Prussia noticed Austria shaking. "And ya'll are invited to my Christmas Party, and that includes ya, Commie Bastard! Celebrate Christmas, not anything else!"

Austria had started muttering under his breath. One could _see_ the tension flowing through him, and the visible changes. A star was appearing on his wrist, and disappearing, and then reappearing. Prussia rubbed his back.

England started taking notice as well, watching as Austria's twitching increased, then as his mouth opened in a wail, a silent wail, a silent cry of pain.

A sound filled the air, a high-pitched scream, and heads turned towards the sound, which turned out to be Austria, Electric Violet eyes wide, whites showing, fingers gripped tightly on the seat, and a star constantly disappearing and reappearing on his cheek.

America looked confused, stopping his drawn-out Christmas Party invitation, while Sri Lanka looked concerned, the irritable look on her face from when America had interrupted her fading.

Prussia, nodded at England, telling him to explain (he had helped Austria a few centuries back when he was facing the same problem), and picked up Austria, bridal style, who was starting to writhe, tearing the violet coat. Prussia rushed out of the room.

* * *

 **England**

* * *

With a sigh, England got up, motioning for all India, Sri Lanka, and America to sit down. They did, no questions asked.

"What was that?" asked Switzerland, removing his hand from over Liechtenstein's eyes.

"Why did he start feeling pain?" asked China.

"You know how we have human identities?" asked England, receiving a series of nods. "How they are us, but a different person than us as the nations?" Another set of nods. "Most of our human identities are exactly the same as our nation selves, except for being named differently than our country names. Well, for Austria, it's completely different. As well as for Romania and Denmark."

Romania could be seen with a hand over his mouth, covering the growing fangs.

Denmark could be seen sinking down into his chair, a forlorn look in his eyes, as Norway shot him a look.

"Austria is Christian as a nation," continued England. "And Jewish as a human. Roderich Edelstein. Whenever someone says something about Christmas being better than Hanukkah, the two persons in Austria start having a major fight; Austria on the side of Christmas, and Mr. Edelstein on the side of Hanukkah. His systems get overloaded, and he breaks down into unimaginable pain for about two weeks. Thank you America, Austria is in pain because of you. And if you can't detect the sarcasm you've misunderstood."

Romania removed his hand from in front of his mouth, his left canine a bit sharper and longer than the right one, as usual.

Denmark straightened up, sitting up in his chair with a huge grin on his face.

America stayed in his seat quietly, guiltily thinking about Austria's pain-filled face.

Sri Lanka started her presentation again, and the meeting resumed, but much more subdued and grim.

* * *

 **Austria**

* * *

Pain wracked every part of his body. He could feel the darkness pulling him in, and considered letting it, before remembering that nations came back to life very soon after they died.

Another spasm of agony washed over him, and this time he couldn't stop the howl of pain that escaped his lips.

He vaguely felt a soft hand stroking his hair and getting a wet cloth to put on his forehead.

Very soon he drifted out of consciousness.

This happened over and over again during the last two weeks, until finally it was over.

Austria could stand up without pain, and play his beloved piano.

And guess who was beside him that entire time.

You guessed it.

Prussia.

 **A/N**

 **I guess now it's blatantly obvious which pairing I support most! Kesesesese~!**


	8. Of Aristocrats & Austrian Girls

**It's mah birthday, oh yeah, I'm thirteen! WOOH! Thought I'd treat you something when I entered my teens! And technically, this account goes on my mom's email, and she's fifty-four, so it's her account. But that email address is going to change, TODAY! 'Cause I'm thirteen, thirteen... :)**

 **Taeras: Thank you! I love it when people have favorite chapters, 'cause that means something is special and stands out.**

 **ZoethezanyIII: Course I am! Hetalia/Anime is my LIFE! It's the best thing EVER! *otaku***

 **Animefangurl345: Yes, I know. It's just because some people call them by different names, so I believe that Holland and Netherlands are two separate ent** **ities, Holland being a year older.**

 **So, let's get to it. Just so you know, this is NOT a slash. I love PruAus so much, I can't ship either of them with ANYONE else.**

* * *

 **Of Aristocrats & Austrian Girls**

* * *

 **A Random Supermarket In Austria In 1982**

"Um, sir...?"

Austria turned in annoyance at the young girl who was bothering him. "What?"

She pointed at his cello case. "I noticed you play the cello. How long have you been playing?"

Austria ran his fingers through his hair. _Since it was invented._ "Twenty-one years."

She blinked in surprise, dark chocolate eyes awed. "Wow! I've been playing for only eight years..."

"What's your name?" asked Austria, actually impressed that a twelve-year-old had been playing for that long. "My name is Roderich Edelstein."

"My name is Maike Chaczko," she smiled at him, brushing dark hazel hair behind her ear. "And I'd like to hear you play."

Austria smiled at that, genuinely happy with the fact that this girl of the new generation showed an interest in classical music, or "classical shit" as Prussia put it, though Austria knew that Prussia secretly enjoyed his playing.

"Let's have tea."

* * *

They were sitting in Austria's sunroom, Maike sipping tea as she watched Austria play the sixth Bach suite, then the Haydn Cello Concerto in C, and then some more with shining eyes. The end of her braid was sitting in her cake, but she was too enthralled by the music to care.

After he was done, she quickly asked for a demonstration on the piano. He was more than happy to comply, starting with Chopin's Nocturne in C# Minor, and ending with Shostakovich.

"Why did you agree to come see me?" asked Austria.

Maike bit her lip. "My teacher left. I'm looking for a new one. May I be your pupil?"

"I would need to speak to your mother," said Austria, but nodding his head. Maike's face lit up, and she practically shoved the flip phone in Austria's face, who was surprised by her enthusiasm.

He talked to her mother for a solid fifteen minutes, and Maike waited anxiously, chewing on her fingers.

Austria hung up, and nodded in Maike's direction. "She said yes."

Maike squealed happily, and danced around the room. In all honesty, the gesture made Austria kind of sad. It reminded him of when Italy was young and used to dance to his piano playing.

It was settled.

Maike would study with him.

For the next three years, Maike showed up every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday at six-o-clock in the evening, and left at nine-o-clock. Then, she suddenly stopped coming. All that was left was a note.

 _Dear Mister Roderich Edelstein_

 _Thank you for your time._

 _Thank you for teaching me and everything I know. I couldn't have gotten this great opportunity in America without your help._

 _I have been chosen to attend a pre-college course in Indiana String Academy._

 _I wonder if you know the teacher I'm going to be working with. Susan Moses-Bloom?_

 _She's great. She'll be teaching me there. Mother has already packed and everything._

 _I couldn't tell you about this in person. I was just too scared about how you would react._

 _I love you as a teacher, and as a friend._

 _Yet I wonder...how come you don't seem to be getting older? In the three years you have taught me, you never seem to age._

 _Perhaps it is just because of some cream._

 _I hope you and I get to meet again._

 _Though it probably won't happen,_

 _Though, who knows. Inexplicable things happen all the time._

 _Good-bye, though hopefully not forever._

 _Love,_

 _Maike Chaczko_

* * *

 **Austria, 1992**

* * *

Austria had heard things about the supposedly "amazing" new concert cellist in his Viennese hall, so he'd bought tickets to the show.

It was tonight.

He had seated himself in the middle, the best place to watch a performance. Not too close, and not too far.

The cellist came out, and he froze.

It was her.

She caught his eye as she played. She winked.

She sounded amazing.

At the end, in the dressing rooms, he walked straight towards her, only to be enveloped in a warm hug. She was affectionate as ever. And now she was twenty-two. Her form had matured a lot, and her large dark chocolate eyes were now framed with wavy strands of dark hazel hair.

"Mr. Edelstein!"

"Maike..."

"You don't look a day older than when we met," Maike said fondly, gaze traveling up and down him. "And that was ten years ago."

Austria smiled at her. "You are an amazing cellist."

"I learned it from you. Susan only had to touch up on a few things."

"Don't flatter me. It's going to get you nowhere."

"Blunt as always, Mr. Edelstein."

"You may call me Roderich, as we are no longer student and teacher, but colleagues."

* * *

They shared stories over tea and cakes in Austria's sunroom.

Maike waved her hand around as she animatedly explained her journey fighting against sexism as some young men in her school thought that women could not perform. It was a journey made in a day. Literally.

She beat them up for it.

Feminism at its finest.

Austria winced.

Maike then explained about her performances around the country, and her meeting with Yo Yo Ma, and how she thought that Austria was better than he was. But finally, she stopped, and rested her gaze on his face.

"Why did you not age?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

Austria stood up, putting his cup down.

"Maike, I think you should sleep. You've had a tiring day, and it must be exhausting for you."

Maike agreed, and no more was said that day.

* * *

It was 1995, three years later when he told her that he was the nation of Austria.

She took it in a stride, and said, "That's why you're fantastical at every instrument you lay your hands on, even the crappily made ones. You are Austria, and Austria is music."

It was 1999, four years later when she told him she was engaged, and he was invited to the wedding.

The wedding was a few months later, and he watched, and clapped the loudest as she kissed the groom, a beautiful young woman with dark skin and even darker hair, curly and long.

Maike introduced Phoenix Chaczko-Lowe to him.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said to her. Phoenix smiled.

"Nice meeting you too."

Maike grinned and took Phoenix by the hand, leading her to the dance floor.

* * *

Austria stared at the picture of Maike at her wedding.

It was 2015, and she was dead.

The car accident that had killed Phoenix and Solo, their daughter, had killed Maike as well.

The drunk driver was in rehab now, and everyone who knew them was in mourning.

Phoenix, barely forty-five, was gone, never to grace the earth with her presence again.

Solo, their twelve-year-old daughter, the remnants of their lineage, was dead. Died, hands holding Phoenix's and Maike's.

And Maike...the forty-six-year-old cellist was dead. Six feet under, her music, as beautiful as it was, ripped away from her in an instant, from the stupidity of a drunk driver.

Austria wished he wasn't immortal, and wished he would stop getting attached to humans, no matter how beautiful their music was, or how much they loved it.

A tear fell onto the framed photograph in his hand.

Austria roughly shoved it to the back of the shelf, where all his other painful and unwanted memories were kept.

He stormed roughly out of the room, leaving it to collect dust, not to be looked at for years.

 **A/N**

 **That ending was lovely. I intended to kill her from the start.**


End file.
